


Come Running

by tzigane, Zaganthi (Caffiends)



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Episode Tag, M/M, PWP, Porn, Werewolf Bites, chapstick as lube
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-03-27
Updated: 2017-03-27
Packaged: 2018-10-11 10:51:48
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,027
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10463229
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tzigane/pseuds/tzigane, https://archiveofourown.org/users/Caffiends/pseuds/Zaganthi
Summary: "Your idiot friends, you..." He was spitting venom, and pressed a big hand against Stiles's spine. "None of you know how to run."Jesus. Jesus, he had been here too long because all he could do was drag in shuddering breaths that were on the verge of too much. He could taste dust, could smell Peter despite it, and it was. It was amazing. After so long drifting, after so much nothing, it was almost more than he could bear.He was warm and human, well, not human but mortal, ish, Stiles supposed, and holding him, and oh god. "I can't believe I ended up here. Your stupid stupid friends..."





	

Time.

Time was a problem. Running, racing, flowing, and sometimes he was aware of it. Worse were the times he blinked and realized that he was not.

Stiles Stilinski, ladies and gentlemen. Stuck in some kind of weird Neverland train station that made no sense outside of a Stargate episode, which meant he was never making it through that field. He'd fry. He couldn't even be sure that Peter had made it through.

He couldn't be sure of anything.

He just waited. Waited and waited and watched all of Beacon fucking Hills filter in, one by groggy and incoherent one, waiting for someone he knew.

No one ever came.

There had to be other stations, other places where people were being stored. The Wild Hunt wasn't something new, it was something old. So if the Hunt had been taking people for years, there would be people in different dress, historically speaking. It wasn't like he hadn't been sitting around in the same clothes for god alone knew how long. It was weird and magical, never feeling any grungier than he had before, never changing.

It was limbo, and he kept hoping he'd find someone he knew, but... but. 

He slowly lost interest in the radio, in trying to reach the outside. He'd gotten a blip of sharp hope when he'd radioed through to his Jeep, there and gone and lost, and now he was starting to have trouble concentrating. There was nothing to find, nothing to see, nothing to do, and it just kept getting harder.

There was nothing to do except pace back and forth, watch strangers come in, watch everyone scramble wildly when the hunt came and left. There were people he could recognize by sight -- mostly because they had uniforms with stitched pockets declaring where they worked -- but never anyone he _knew_. It was maddening, and it made him want to scream, but mostly it just left him bored and staring into space for longer and longer periods of time. He'd even stopped caring when the Riders came with new victims.

Right up until one of them slapped him so hard he couldn't miss it.

"Wake up, you scrawny little shit head!"

Literally slapped him as he sat dozing in the chair in the stupid little office with the radio, and jarred him awake.

"Ow, you bastard!" Seriously? Seriously, Peter motherfucking Hale. If he hadn't been so sincerely glad to see him, Stiles might have decked him despite the time he'd punched Derek and cracked a knuckle.

Instead, he found himself overwhelmed. Stiles surged upwards, wrapped his arms tight around Peter and held on as though someone would be there any moment to rip them apart.

"Your idiot friends, you..." He was spitting venom, and pressed a big hand against Stiles's spine. "None of you know how to run."

Jesus. Jesus, he had been here too long because all he could do was drag in shuddering breaths that were on the verge of too much. He could taste dust, could smell Peter despite it, and it was. It was amazing. After so long drifting, after so much nothing, it was almost more than he could bear.

He was warm and human, well, not human but mortal, ish, Stiles supposed, and holding him, and oh god. "I can't believe I ended up here. Your stupid stupid friends..."

Yeah. Yeah, he was a mess, and he tucked his face into Peter's throat and breathed him in for a long minute. "You always say we're stupid." His voice was cracked, hoarse. He sounded like he hadn't talked in a long time, and yeah. He had no idea how long. "Fuck, I'm glad you actually lived through that."

"There was some medical intervention involved. She's probably been taken by them by now." He patted at Stiles's back, and it was weirdly awkward before he just clutched close at him. "Fuck."

Fuck indeed, and maybe his brain wasn't online. Okay, definitely his brain wasn't online, because he pulled away from Peter, looked at him for all of about three seconds, and then leaned in to kiss the hell out of him. He wasn't expecting to do it, and Peter wasn't expecting him to do it because he froze for about five seconds. Stiles was sure he was going to get slapped again, slapped twice in one day by an angry werewolf. Except he started to kiss back. God, that was. That was good, actually. He'd kissed his fair share of people, that much was certain. If anybody had asked him back when all of this started, he had figured he'd be lucky to kiss one or two people anytime before leaving Beacon Hills.

One thing was certain. He had never been kissed quite like this, because _damn_.

Peter backed him up against the desk, and broke the kiss just long enough to start kissing Stiles's neck. "Stupid sacrificing children...."

Wow. Wow, and he dropped his head back, drawing in a quick panting breath. "Oh, my god, I thought you were dead, I thought I was going to be here alone forever, you have no idea how glad I am to seeeeeee.... oh, Jesus, that. That, that, that." The nip of human teeth, blunt but still there, and maybe he would like Peter to do that again. No, no. Definitely he would like Peter to do that again.

Which was good because Peter did it again and then started to fuss with the buttons of his shirt. "Clothes off, I want, I've wanted to do this for years..."

Whoa. All the whoa, and Stiles opened his mouth because fuck, what? What, but ugh, teeth again, and his throat, one hand shoving into his waistband, and later. He would so have to ask about that later, because as interesting as that was, getting his hands under Peter's stupid v-neck was definitely hella more important.

He wanted to feel skin and alive and he hadn't felt alive in so damn long, eternity, and there was no telling how much time had passed because it felt like everything and nothing all at once to him. "Yes, just..." Peter leaned back long enough to peel his shirt off over his head and throw it on the ground. It gave Stiles the opportunity to pull off his first shirt. He was still tangled in his undershirt when Peter was on him again, and for a second he nearly flailed out in response, but his shirt came loose with a little help and joined the others.

"Just, yes. Yes, okay? Yes." So much yes, and he leaned in again, caught Peter's mouth, and Christ. Just kissing felt like waking up, felt like _living_ instead of slowly turning to dust.

His brain was moving again and all it took was the friction of another body against his, the feeling of motion and being alive again. "Good..." Peter broke the kiss long enough to sigh and start to shove Stiles's pants down.

"Wow. Um. Wow." Yes, wow, okay, because that was... weirdly familiar, and clearly Alpha ran in the family in the whole _let me take control of this situation_ kind of way. Not that he was thinking anything about that familiarity, because that would be ridiculous, and honestly? Getting his hand in Peter's pants was a much bigger priority. "Oh, oh, that, um...."

Peter shifted his hips to help, until he was cupping not fabric but soft warm skin and a pretty threatening erection. Jesus. "I know how to use it, too."

Stiles couldn't help the way his mouth dropped open, a breath panting loose. "I would possibly kill someone for lube right now. Or at least severely maim them. In a non-bloody werewolfy kind of way." Except wait, wait. "Wait, wait, I, I have chapstick. In my pocket." Weird, maybe, but it would at least make this whole thing a little more slick.

"Tell me you've done this before," he half demanded, "because how the fuck is a tube of chapstick going to..."

"I've done things before!" Stiles protested, pulling back for a moment. "I've done all kinds of things, I mean..." Yeah, sleeping with Malia, maybe not a thing that was appropriate to bring up right now. "It's..." He fumbled for the pocket of his jeans where they were loose and part of the way down his thighs. "It's the kind in a... Just for god's sake, here!"

"Oh thank god you're not a secret idiot," Peter huffed, clutching at the tube of liquid chapstick. "Though if we're stuck here much longer we'll have to get creative."

He couldn't help the short, sharp sound he gave, something like a laugh, even as he stroked Peter's cock, slow, light grip, thumb rubbing over the slit. "Got about forty people who won't notice if we go digging through their stuff, pretty sure we'll manage."

"Maybe." Peter didn't think on it too long and neither could he because he had the tube clutched in hand and was kissing Stiles again, so he was sliding bare assed on the heavy desk and could sprawl back, the dust silky and ridiculous against his skin.

His shoes thumped to the floor and Peter caught the hem near his ankles, tugging until Stiles was naked as his underwear came off with his jeans in a tangle. "Yes." Yeah, yes, and then Peter was on him, over him, and Jesus, the dichotomy of being with someone who still had on clothes while his were off never did stop being kind of fantastic. It was maybe a family trait and he wasn't going to think about it, weird that he'd be that kind of guy, like bad gaybait porn where the girlfriend sexed him up and then tied him up so her father, gay buddy, brother could fuck him and maybe that spoke more to his porn consumption than reality. Reality was grinding against him, fly open, hand clutching tight against his hip. Reality was _awesome_ , and he was seriously going to develop some kind of kink about the biting if Peter didn't stop it. Ngh, that was. It was just good. Amazing, in fact, crazy fantastic, and he moaned, arching up to try and situate himself more comfortably. "Come on, c'mon!"

"No, I'll move at the speed I want to. Just..." He leaned back, breathing hard, hands shoving Stiles's wrists down against the desk. "You're perfect like this."

God, yeah. Yes, that was good for him, totally okay with him, and he rocked up, dick lining up against Peter's in a way that made his breath hitch. He could feel the teeth of the zipper, a bite that made a sharp contrast between skin and denim, and he moaned. "Oh, god."

Peter was all biting feeling, and then he leaned in to kiss, suck at Stiles's neck, and then the zipper edged down, Peter using his hip to shove everything down to get his dick freer, which was utterly ridiculous. More than, and Stiles couldn't help the breathless laugh he gave, hands twitching momentarily because he wanted to help but couldn't. Couldn't even, and he groaned when Peter shoved against him because dammit. It was so good, so wonderful to have someone with him, someone _with him_ who knew something was wrong, who did something other than stare into space and wait.

Peter felt like action and panic and fear, and tasted like anger and scheming, and he hoped he had a plan but there was no telling, not when he was squishing chapstick between his asscheeks. "Spread your legs."

Yeah, that shouldn't make him laugh, but right at the moment everything did. Everything was bright and sharp for the first time in so long, because Peter was back, Peter who had gone through the veil and come back again, and fuck but he was grateful. More than, and Stiles sprawled open his knees with a sincere lack of grace, grunting when Peter immediately took advantage of that, pushing in two fingers at once without pausing, deep and almost too much too fast but slick at least and he was aching for contact after the deadening numbness, couldn't not accept it gratefully, and Peter let go of his hands then leaned down to kiss his stomach. 

Even something that hurt-stung-was almost too much was miraculous, something he thought he'd never feel again, and Stiles's mouth was open, breath a hot panting shudder between his lips, his hands coming down to clench at his sides because he had a feeling that Peter wasn't the kind to enjoy someone else trying to run the show. "Fucking hell." His voice sounded raw, thick. "God."

"I could be," he rumbled, stretching and squirming before he eased those fingers back. "You ready?"

Maybe. Probably not, it wasn't like he'd gone beyond that by much, but he didn't want to wait, either. "Does it matter?" Not really.

"No." He watched and felt Peter lean back, hard dick jutting out as he pulled at Stiles's legs, one pushed to the side, one tugged up and over his shoulder, and oh.

Oh.

He drew in a deep breath, let his lashes flutter shut and then opened them again, looking down to see and then letting out a shuddery sigh as Peter's cock rubbed between his cheeks, one hand on Stiles's ankle and the other guiding him into position.

Nice and thick, and the view was amazing, Peter's lean body and muscled hips and then dick, dick that he could feel between his asscheeks, pressing in slowly. "You're gorgeous."

Stiles would have returned the compliment if he hadn't been concentrating, desperate, trying to take it in and god, but that was. Peter's cock felt huge, felt like it was splitting him open, so much pressure, and then he was in, slow and steady, a heavy sting as Stiles strained to take him in, and all he could do was reach up, hands falling onto Peter's forearms as he moaned, entire body shaking. Christ. Fuck, but that was. Ngh.

"Uhn." Peter bit at his bottom lip, delicately biting as he fucked Stiles, a bit of tooth showing in a way that was hysterical and showy, because drama queen was so deep in the male side of the Hale bloodline that clearly even fucking required as much.

It made him huff out something like a laugh and then a moan as Peter pushed balls deep. "Oh, god. Oh, Jesus, Peter."

"Oh, you almost got the whole triune. I'll take it, though." He snapped his hips in tight, and then slowly eased his dick back.

Stiles tightened his hands on Peter's arms and whined, nearly whimpered. He could feel himself squeezing around Peter's dick, and it was. It was hard, which made him want to laugh again because of course it was hard. "Yeah, well. You do have a habit of coming back from the... ah!"

Nail, tiny pissy werewolf nail in his ankle, and then another thrust. "Back from the dead? And aren't you glad of it?"

Stiles opened his mouth, snark on his tongue, and then Peter leaned in, folded him almost in half, and instead he let out a ragged moan. "Oh god. Oh, fuck, Peter, you bastard, you complete bastard, _do that again_."

"Balls deep is something you like. Very nice." He seemed pleased with himself and it made sense he was a talker but goddamn. Stiles just needed him to do that _again_.

With some effort and what was damn near a growl, he reached up, got his hands on Peter, and jerked him closer. "Fuck me _harder_ or we'll see if you can do it after I break your nose for not doing it." Yeah, well. It was the best threat he had, all things considered. It wasn't like he could pull out wolfsbane or a baseball bat at the moment.

It made Peter laugh and it made him thrust harder, hips bucking sharply suddenly. "Is this enough for you?"

Oh, god. Oh, yes, and Stiles couldn't help yelling when he did it. Everything was too much, all of it, just. Too much sensation, too much hurt, too much pleasure, too much everything, and Peter was fucking wrecking him, ruining him for anyone else who couldn't fuck him this way, and he knew it. He kept his hands on Peter, fingers clenched, and rocked up into the next shove.

He wanted more and he wanted it always and maybe they'd be stuck in that hellhole long enough to get bored with the idea of a good vicious fucking but he didn't think so. Not like this, and he let go of Peter's forearm and got his right hand between them, beginning to jack his cock quick and rough, the way he did it when he just wanted to fucking come. That was it, he just fucking wanted to come, wanted to come around that thick dick that was shoving into him before Peter got too excited. He could see teeth and there was no knowing how it went down for werewolves; after all, Malia got kind of scratchy and bitey on towards the end, that he knew for the god's honest truth, and he choked a little trying to keep back the hysterical laugh that caught up in the center of him. 

Instead, he tightened the grip of his left hand on Peter, stoked his dick a little faster, and Peter moved just right, so goddamned good, and Stiles came in a whiteout blast of orgasm like he'd never felt before, and that was saying something. For a man who'd masturbated a lot and had really great sex a lot with, no, no, he could think about that later, or maybe never, but wow, did he love Hale sex organs. They were clearly the best, ever.

"Nnnngh, god." His voice was a slur, and Peter was pounding into him in a way that made a second painful orgasm a high likelihood if he kept at it for very long at all. "Jesus fuck."

"Peter fuck." If it was a correction or a promise, Stiles didn't know, but the man spread his legs and thrust, thrust, thrust, until he felt something uncomfortable low in his stomach, his body gearing up again without pausing anywhere near long enough.

There was a sticky mess of come between them, and he was too damned sensitive to stroke himself again, so he reached up, cupped a hand at the back of Peter's neck, and pulled him in, kissing him around the sharpness of teeth, the snarl of his lip, and panting his way through the rising arousal. "Yeah. Yeah."

It surprised him when Peter pulled back, leaning and twisting as he groaned and thrust in a stuttered way that made him think it was almost over. That was a damn shame. Stiles closed his eyes and tightened around him purposely, using his arms and legs to pull him in as tight as he could head dropping back on the desk with a hard thump because yes.

Yes.

 _Yes_.

Peter slumped against him, on top of him, heavy but not too heavy, and it felt good to lie there in stupid wonder. He was going to be sitting sideways for a day or three, but he could still feel Peter in him, and fuck. It was just so good not to be alone, so amazing to have this, and he clung more tightly despite himself.

When Peter finally pulled out, he half expected for it to feel awkward, but it wasn't. Peter held onto him, and sighed. It was heavy, thoughtful, and Stiles blinked up at him giddily in response before declaring, "Well. If I didn't know for sure I went both ways before, I think I'm pretty certain now. You fucked the gay right into me."

He laughed, a startled bark of noise. "You took it like a pro. I couldn't tell."

Reaching up, Stiles pulled him closer, kissed him lazily, still giddy and loose from orgasm. "Mmmm. Well. Masturbatory experimentation definitely proved anal was a thing. Not a bad thing. Definitely not as good as this thing."

"Good, because if you didn't like it, it might be awkward in this place." Peter stretched and held onto him, looking pleased with himself. Not a bad way to kill time.

Clearly he was going to be going through everyone's pockets. And purses. And satchels. The fact that he was thinking about being stuck here long term was frankly depressing. It was a shame to waste the fantastic tension release that way. "Mmm. Considering the first time we came face to face, you bit Lydia and forced me to try and help you find Scott, I should be more disturbed about this. What does that even say about my life?" A huffing sigh parted his lips, more contemplative than anything else. "Nothing good. That's what."

"Yeah, about that..." Peter lifted his head and smiled at him before shifting quickly and sinking his teeth into Stiles's neck.

He screamed, loud, high pitched, ridiculous, because it fucking _hurt_ , hurt like hell, and he fought as soon as Peter's teeth came free, for all the good it would do. "You _fucker_!"

Peter pinned him down at his wrists, chuckling. "Hello, new beta. Like hell we're staying here forever."

Stiles was already snarling, bucking up to try and push him off. "You're not an alpha! It won't do you any good, you son of a bitch!" Oh, god, he was _bleeding_ , he needed to apply pressure, he needed to... _something_.

"I'm an alpha!" Peter snapped, "I'm an alpha down to my marrow. Hold still."

"No!" He'd be damned if he did, but Peter was stronger than him, and he was _bleeding_. He only struggled for so long, and then fell back, shaken, shuddering. "You bastard. You complete...." Because he wasn't an alpha. He wasn't.

He leaned back, chuckling. "You'll be fine. You'll be fine."

Fine, fuck that, and Stiles jerked at his hands, fighting until he managed to get one free and clasped to his neck. "You're insane!" And Stiles knew that, he had known that, but it had been so good. So good not to be alone, and maybe he was cracking.

Maybe it didn't matter, and Peter let him go, grinning to himself. "You'll be fine. Trust me."

"Or I could bleed to death, or hey! Just _die_ spewing black goo because you aren't an _alpha_!" Seething, pissed off, hand clasped to his neck and pulling away again to see what it looked like. "No matter what you believe, you psycho. Jesus!" Just blood. Not black goo which was good, but it wasn't really calming either. And it didn't help that Peter's grin was insane, his eyes flashing bright in a way that made Stiles want to kill him. Again. That would leave him alone in this hell, and he wasn't sure which was worse. "They're going to remember me," he told Peter, voice strained. "They're going to remember me, and they're going to find a way to get me out of here, and I swear to god, when they do...."

"They remember you. They remember you and Scott's plan is to bite you. That's it." He started to laugh, and Stiles's mind went blank.

"And you think you beat him to the punch." And also managed to fuck the hell out of him. Stiles could only lie there and stare at him, mouth open. "You're insane."

"Maybe." He flashed his eyebrows at Stiles. "But you're going to turn, I can smell it on you."

But. He wasn't an alpha. He wasn't, and Stiles began to shake, watching him.

He wasn't an alpha.

But magic worked in mysterious ways, and Stiles well knew he was something of a magical shortcut, prone to picking up whatever dark thing lingered.

"Oh, god."

"I'll pull up a chair and wait," Peter said calmly, sliding back away from the desk he was sprawled on. "I should have bitten you, Stiles. You would have been an amazing wolf, so much smarter than Scott. Such a shame that I wasn't entirely myself."

Curling in on himself, Stiles shuddered again, and waited for the inevitable.


End file.
